


To Capture A King

by seupeuu



Series: Midsummer Vanities [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate universe - sad Angela, King!Ten, Kunten, M/M, Romance, this is basically a melancholic version of Rapunzel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:28:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26271883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seupeuu/pseuds/seupeuu
Summary: In a subtle movement, the younger reaches forward and places a fleeting kiss on the cheek of the other, who flushes red at the contact.“Why did you do that?” Kun questions innocently.“Because you look beautiful. Like a prince.” the younger admits.“Then do it again, my King” Kun teases.“Kiss me again. On the lips this time.” he continues, with a sly grin that is truly sublime.
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten & Qian Kun, Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Qian Kun, Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Series: Midsummer Vanities [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1913095
Comments: 11
Kudos: 63





	To Capture A King

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lumively](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumively/gifts).



“Will you let me know what you would like to wear at tonight’s dinner party?” Johnny walks agitatedly around the royal main chamber, closely followed by the court’s most trusted dog, a majestic irish greyhound that was gifted to Ten as a birthday present, and that is too often found drooling on the young king’s immaculate bedsheets to be considered an obedient beast.

“It’s ‘Your Majesty’ now.” Ten corrects his retainer with a sheepish grin, and the other turns to him with a playful smile: “I apologise. Would _**Your Majesty**_ consider wearing this blue suit? Or perhaps _**Your Majesty**_ would prefer those Japanese silken pants...?”

The king shrugs: “Mh, the pants.”  
He gets up from his bed; a grand bed which still feels very foreign to him, a bed which has always been his, but only recently became the king’s own too, after the sudden death of Ten’s father and the subsequent investiture of King Li Yongqin. The young man wraps himself inside the flimsy linen sheet and tiptoes closer to the opened window, taking in the intense scent of the rose flowers that so elegantly bundle against the Palace stony walls. He lets the blanket find its way through the sublime curves of his naked body, moving it around with his eyes ajar and revealing a bit too much of his sacred nudity to the birds chirping outside. The feeling of the fabric, so dry against his smooth skin, makes him wonder how it would feel like to have somebody else caress and touch him the way he does to himself when he’s feeling lonely and no guard is around to witness the profanity of his muffled moans. Johnny walks towards him with two small tiaras, one for each hand: the first one modest and with a simple linear design, the second one engraved with an elaborated constellation of vibrant gemstones. “Which one?”

Ten keeps his gaze fixed on a far away hill outside, where the sun is starting to settle, and speaks his answer in a low voice: “I really don’t care.”

Johnny sighs. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing, I’m just tired. And it’s _**‘Your Majesty’.**_ ”

“You literally just woke up, after sleeping all afternoon.” the retainer rebuttals, ignoring the king’s invitation to refer to him with his proper title. Ten turns around and walks behind an opulent room divider instilled with pictures of belligerent soldiers and gallant knights. He runs his fingers upon the high-relief of the silvery pattern, as he lets himself get dressed by two modest servants who cover him in precious, expensive clothes. Johnny places one of the diadems on top of his head and looks at his own reflection in the mirror: the colorful stones shine a faint red light as they come in contact with the sun’s rays, creating a crooked line of dots on the retainer’s forehead. He shouldn’t be allowed to wear something that was designed and crafted for a monarch, him being only a royal employee, but Johnny feels justified as he’s been at Ten’s side for at least twenty years, becoming his friend before even being promoted to the position of personal retainer. If he weren’t feeling so profoundly accidious right now, Ten would even join him in his game and pretend as if the older were the prince of a foreign exotic land visiting the Palace for the first time - a game they used to play when they were very little. “Please, tell me what’s going on in that wayward head of yours…”

Ten sits down at his toilette and gapes at his own reflection, mirroring the position Johnny is in just a few metres away from him. His eyes are injected with bright red capillaries, his pale cheeks are the same colour of the porcelain cup that sits alone and half empty at the center of the toilette desk. It’s something so gracious and delicate, that the king feels somehow connected to it; the small curved handle reminds him of the curly locks of hair that fall damp in his eyes after a long bath, and the blue lilies painted on the rim of the cup vaguely recall the tint of his own veins, clearly visible on the insides of his wrists. Ten pushes the small object with the back of his hand, slowly, until it hovers over the very edge of the table; until it falls down on the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces, alarming the dog and the two servants who quickly gather around the ceramic shards and clean up the mess. The young king doesn’t bat an eye.

“Has it ever occurred to you that I’ve never really been free? That I’ve never been able to just walk out of the Palace without the threat of being killed or harmed in any way?” Ten scoffs, a small tear timidly tracing a line down his cheek. “Look outside, Johnny; look behind the court gates. At this hour you can always see the town children running up the hill, chasing their kites, and the village women keeping company to each other in the grass, while the young men court them with gifts and flowers and recite them their favourite songs. You can even hear the farmers’ call as they announce the work day has finally ended and their helpers can head back home. Wouldn’t you prefer to work the land or sell goods in a shop, like everyone else outside this castle? Wouldn’t you rather have a simple life like that, Johnny?”

The retainer doesn’t say anything, scared of triggering an emotional breakdown within the spirit of the dejected king, who looks so frail and vulnerable in this massive room. The latter speaks again, words rolling weakly out of his mouth: “I wish I could be a villager, too. Or perhaps a bird, so I could roam freely in the windy sky. Life would be short, but oh, so eventful…”

“You’re not a villager, Yongqin, you’re the King. Shouldn’t you be happy?”

There is a long silence, during which Ten rummages through the depths of his mind, on the look for an appropriate answer. “I’ve learned that happiness is meaningful and good. But why do I feel like I’ve never been happy before in my life? Perhaps contented, yes, perhaps even joyous once or twice, but all the time, especially these last few years, I’m just numbly existing through the monotony of my tedious life as a Monarch; signing documents, drinking tea with dukes, getting wasted on expensive liquor and sleeping away my youthful years. You say I should feel happy, but what does it mean?” Ten’s tone isn’t bitter anymore; the young man is just curious, hopeful to receive a sensible response from his retainer. 

He is met with an insolent scoff instead. “Why are you so dismal all of a sudden?”

“I’ve always been.” Ten whispers, and Johnny looks at him with a sad smile.

He sighs: “If it’s so important to you, then I’ll take you to town, just so you can see that it’s really not as dreamy as you always picture it to be.”

Ten jumps to his feet, his eyes becoming two full moons: “Wait, are you serious?”

“Of course. There is a banquet in the town tomorrow, a celebration for the anniversary of your investiture as King. You’re invited, of course, but your mother won’t allow you to go and mingle with the town people, given that she’s always so worried about your well being. She will probably use tonight’s dinner party as a scapegoat to justify tomorrow’s absence, too...” Johnny holds up his index finger and gestures, “However, if you’ll swear to keep it a secret, I could tell her you need to attend some affairs out of the Palace, and accompany you to the fair in the morning: we will spend the day outside and be back by sundown. Does it sound like a plan to you?”

Ten jumps in his arms and thanks him at least a hundred times, his eyes still lucid but with tears of joy. Johnny is relieved: it warms his heart to see his king smiling brightly at him, forgetful (even for just a minute) of all his repressed melancholic thoughts. “Good. I will prepare some clothes and put them in your room; when you’ll want to leave, just come look for me. But now, you need to get ready for tonight’s dinner.” Johnny playfully pushes Ten in the direction of his toilette.

The latter sits down on the wooden stool with a pout, as his servants start to style his hair and smear various kinds of cosmetic powders all over his pretty face.

♠

The walk from the Palace is usually about half an hour long, but all they take is a quarter of an hour at most since Ten is walking at double pace, skipping around and casually picking up a flower or two along the wooded path. They’re headed towards the town fair, and the young king cannot contain his excitement.

He hands a small bouquet of daisies and wildflowers to his chaperone, who’s smiling at him fondly from behind his shoulders, glad that the king has finally gone back to his good spirited humour: “My Goodness, Johnny; I can’t believe we’re doing this! I am very thrilled- but also scared, if you understand what I mean. I don’t know what to expect, really…”

“Well, Yongqin, the people from the town are normal people, just like us. Sometimes they might appear rude, or rough, but I promise you: they’re good and kind beings, and they wouldn’t want to harm you in any way.” They’re almost there, and the noise of villagers shouting, laughing and singing happily in the town square are much more audible. Ten rushes forward, impatient to reach the turmoil that’s simmering just a few streets away from him, but Johnny stops him by placing his firm hand on the king’s shoulder. “Listen, Yongqin. As I was saying, village people are usually nice, but you have to be careful, too. If you were to reveal your identity to anyone, you could find yourself to be in trouble: even the most magnanimous person might become envious of your position, and manipulate you into doing things you don’t want to do... ”

Ten shoots his eyes at the sky, then looks at Johnny’s hand gripping on his shoulder: “Understood. Can we go now?”

As the two step into the town streets, the king’s breath finds itself trapped in his lungs, stunned by the beauty of the scenery.

An endless variety of bright colors appears in every form in front of his curious eyes: all sorts of things are being sold in the streets by the loud vendors, from fancy african lamps, to hand made shoes, to various kinds of exotic spices; and even chickens and donkeys make their appearance at the market, some in the form of live animals, some as sausages and steaks. Ten and Johnny stop at one of the stalls, where a chubby middle aged woman with a contagious smile warmly greets the king’s retainer. She’s someone Johnny knows from before he came to live at the Palace, Ten reckons, because she keeps complimenting him on how tall and handsome he has grown since the last time they saw each other.

To be completely honest, Ten feels a little overwhelmed by the woman. He feels embarrassed too, not finding the right words to say when she speaks to him, having to calibrate everything that comes out of his mouth, in fear of revealing his true identity. Johnny would call him uptight, but that’s just what he looks like on the outside. In reality, Ten likes that he’s finally able to interact with someone that he doesn’t know, especially someone that his mother wouldn’t approve of because of her overly protective nature.

The woman doesn’t seem to notice Ten’s perplexed state, too engrossed in a frivolous conversation with Johnny, who’s laughing at her jokes like they’re the funniest thing he’s ever heard. Ten pulls lightly on his sleeve and Johnny gets the message: they kindly tell her that they would like to see the rest of the market, as well, and the woman waves them goodbye, not before stuffing Johnny’s leather sack with a bunch of warm and crunchy loaves of bread. “For the two of you” she winks.

They walk away, and Ten rushes to take out two round loaves from the bag, offering one to his retainer. The savoury bread hits their taste buds like a wave crashing on the beach during a rainstorm: a swirl of flavours envelopes the two in a very pleasant sensation and Ten can’t help but let out a soft moan while chewing loudly on the blend of dough and sesame seeds. It’s delicious, and the young king wonders if every food tastes like this in the city, unrefined but savoury unlike the bland dishes he’s fed at the Palace. It’s like comparing a beautiful oak tree to a gloomy cypress.

They end up tasting at least a dozen different edible treats, from expensive candies to spicy mixtures of vegetables and meat, and each one of them stunns the king with its odd peculiarity of taste: nothing he’s ever experienced in the comfort of his own dining room.

“Excuse me?” a group of young girls suddenly calls the attention of the two, who turn around and greet them with a warm smile. The girl in the middle isn’t older than fourteen, with a pretty satin dress and leather sandals, and the other two who are timidly hiding behind her step forward with flower crowns in their hands, one with bright pink roses, the other one with scented jasmine flowers and dark green leaves. The first girl speaks again, facing Ten: “My friends think you look very handsome, and your friend too… so they prepared a gift for you!”

“I am very flattered by your compliments, thank you for your gift.” The innocence of the girls’ action makes the king’s heart pound with joy.

“It is very much appreciated.” Johnny adds, as he winks in their direction, making them flush instantly red. The man knows how to be teasing, and Ten would like to laugh at his flirtatious act, but he doesn’t want to embarrass the poor girls any further. They hand them their gracious crowns hesitantly, and as soon as the two young men reach out and grab them, the three girls run away in the crowd, blushing and laughing loudly.

Ten and Johnny put the fragile diadems on their head and look at each other for a moment, noticing how a simple accessory is able to change their appearance almost completely: the first looks like the prettiest forest nymph, the second like a buff man who fell asleep in a rose field. They stare at each other for a moment, then fall in a fit of giggles as soon they open their mouths.

It’s the sudden sweet sound of a grand piano that catches the king’s attention once again.

In the center of the square, a brown haired young man is swaying above the piano keys, hitting them with his gracious fingers at a pace that’s definitely too fast for Ten to be able to pay attention to his every movement. The king walks closer, as if hypnotised by the lively melody, having to make his way through the dozens of people who are showing off their not-so-extraordinary dancing abilities while waving colorful flags with the Kingdom’s stemma high in the air.

Unfortunately, when Ten reaches the piano the song comes to a halt. The attention of the spectators is soon turned back to their personal endeavours; only a small cluster of people are still clapping to show their appreciation to the piano player, who gets up from his stool and bows down in their direction, noticing Ten’s presence in front of him.

“Hello, sir! Lovely flower crown you have there...” he greets, pointing at the king’s head.

“Oh!” Ten blushes. The young piano player is undeniably very pretty, a crude kind of beauty that the young king has only ever seen in paintings before. The man’s hair is tidy on his forehead, his features are simple and neat, and his skin is the colour of honey and acacia wood. The man has a light blue handkerchief tied around his wrist like a bracelet, and the king is stunned by how it makes his arms look even more muscular and tanned.

Ten has to quickly regain himself by pinching his own arm.

He starts, with an authoritarian tone: “I came here to tell you that I enjoyed your lovely performance, and I am very grateful for it.”  
It’s true: Ten really liked the song and he feels like he should let the man know that he’s thankful for such a honourable gift, performed in his honour during his own coronation anniversary ceremony. 

However, the man frowns: “Ah… Thank you, kind stranger.”

Ten flushes even redder at the notion that he’s committed a small gaffe: he’s speaking like a king, when the pianist doesn’t really know about his identity yet. Actually, nobody seems to have recognised him throughout the whole day, maybe it’s because he isn’t wearing any of the make up he usually puts on during public events at the Palace, where families from the bourgeoisie are often invited. “I mean, the song was very good. My compliments.” he corrects himself.

“Ah...” the pianist rubs his nape, and the prettiest of pink tints appears on the points of his ears. “I’m Kun, by the way. What is your name?”

_**Kun,**_ Ten contemplates. _**Simple and beautiful, like him.**_

He doesn’t notice the robust figure approaching behind his back, interrupting their little moment: “We have to go, Yong-”

“Ten! My name is Ten!” he exclaims, his loud voice coming out muffled in the confusion of the noisy crowd. Johnny chuckles: “Alright, Ten? We really need to go.”

The king would like to stay a bit longer, but he complies, knowing that arguing with his retainer would just be a waste of time. “Right. Goodbye, Kun.” he says, then follows Johnny towards the path that will bring him back to the Palace.

Kun is left alone and flustered in the middle of the town square, surrounded by the chaotic crowd, pondering on his late encounter with King Li Yongqin.

“See you again...” he whispers, and goes back to his previous endeavour.

♠

Ten is sitting behind the pillar of a monumental statue in the middle of the town square, having escaped from the boring task of settling a trade affair that his mother had forced him to accept back at the Royal Palace. He’s there to hear Kun play the piano, with his legs crossed on the warm stone floor, and it’s exciting to see that there is a stain of dirt on his impeccably white satin trousers: it makes him feel more like a commoner and less like a royal. He stands up and stretches forward to have a better perspective of the pianist, who already noticed his presence and is waiting for him to walk over.

“Come out!” Kun turns halfway to face the space between the piano and his mysterious stalker.

Ten gasps: apparently he’s not as good at hiding as he thought. He walks forward carefully, approaching Kun on the tips of his toes

“Why are you spying on me?” Kun questions, amused.

“I... didn’t wanna disturb…”

Kun looks at him inquisitively for a few seconds, then hums and keeps playing the piano.

“Do you come here often?” the king asks, curious.

In reality, Ten had come to the village a few times already, in the hope of seeing him and hearing him play. Sometimes he would be there, sometimes he wouldn’t, and in the last case Ten would walk straight back to the Palace with a pout.

“Only on Saturdays.” Kun responds, as his hands are lifted from the piano keys “You see, this is basically _**my**_ pianoforte, I built it with the wood from our forest and painted it with our Kingdom’s colours. Which means, I can play it whenever I want.”

Ten traces his finger on the rim of the top board, which is richly decorated with elaborated flower patterns, and the colours are so bright that the king has to squint to make out the outlines of every drawing. He is astonished by the accuracy of the details: “You built this?”

“Yes. I decided to give it to the city a few years ago as a present for the King’s coronation” Kun answers, humbly.

The young king sighs: “It’s beautiful.”

“I’m flattered by your compliment, Your Majesty.”

Ten’s heart sinks in his chest. “What? You...” he realises he’s shouting, so he lowers his voice drastically “...you recognise me?”

“I’m not a fool, Your Majesty.” Kun laughs, and Ten’s stomach is flooded with joy and embarrassment at the same time: “Please, when we’re in public just call me Ten! Or anything but… that.”

“Why Ten?” the other inquires, a contagious smile still plastered on his face

“It’s what my father used to call me when I was little.”

“Alright.”

Ten is relieved by Kun’s reaction: he was warned by Johnny about villagers turning malicious after learning about his real identity, but the pianist doesn’t seem to be affected in the slightest by it - if anything, he’s amused. He turns around and starts playing the same song he was playing before, from the beginning. Ten was expecting to hear a different one, but he’s met instead with the same melody on repeat. He lets out a relieved giggle: “You really like this song, huh?”

“I’ve played it so many times that I’ve learned it by heart. I could even play it with my eyes closed.” Kun admits, a proud smirk on his face

The sweet melody reminds Ten of the serene summer sky, stunning in its variety of blues and whites. It reminds him of the flight of the birds in the evening, eager to find a roof with eaves in which they can build a warm nest, or a quiet, gentle waterfall that connects a timid stream to a bigger river. “Does it have a name?”

“Clouds.” Kun states.

A group of children gathers around the two in order to listen to the sweet melody that the piano chords are generating; Ten feels a bit overwhelmed by all the little hands trying to grab on his clothes and pull him back to be able to have a better look at Kun’s fingers dancing smoothly on the piano keys. But the king feels extremely similar to them, too,  
eyes wide open, focused on every note evoked by the beautiful instrument,  
ears wide open to welcome the soothing sounds,  
heart wide open to embrace a special warmth that feels so, so new,  
stomach wide open to let out the swarm of butterflies that was all crammed inside after talking to Kun.

Soon enough, the children get tired of standing still and listening to the music, and little by little they disperse around the square: some start playing ball, some gather in a small circle and engage in animated chatter. Ten, however, would stay fixed by Kun’s side for eternity, if he could.

But the sun is already on the horizon, which means that he cannot. “I have to go, Kun,” he says.

“Alright. Goodbye, Ten” the man smiles.

Ten doesn’t want to say goodbye yet. He knows, however, that he shouldn’t test his retainer’s patience by breaking the only rule he was given (alias having to be back at sundown by all means), otherwise he would risk not being let out of the Palace at all.

So, the young king takes a few steps back towards the forest, ready to head home. “Will I see you again?” he then shouts from a distance, glancing in the pianist’s direction in the hope of receiving a positive answer.

Kun looks at him, a peculiar kind of glint lighting up his eyes. “I told you, come here once a week!” he just declares, turning around towards the piano with a slight blush on his soft cheeks.

♠

And so every Saturday after his afternoon duties, Ten sneaks out of the castle and goes to the town to visit his friend; he stays out the longest he can, until the sun starts to set and he must return to attend dinner at the Palace. It’s usually only just about two hours of free time, but that’s pretty much all he can get, so the two always try to make the best of it.

The first time they meet is in the town square, right where Ten had first seen Kun play the piano during the fair. The pianist plays a song for him, a melody that he knows by heart, and Ten asks him to write the music down because he wants to try it on his own brand new harmonium. Kun never learned how to write, though, he could never afford attending school throughout his childhood. He is also surprised at the notion that people write music: how can someone put something so volatile on paper?

Ten, in a feeling that’s half guilty and half superb, asks himself how somebody can grow up without experiencing the pleasure of reading a book or writing a witty tale. He remembers when he used to build little books for his maids to read, they would always compliment him on his ability to turn an idea into such a beautiful written story. He wonders if Kun was as bright and lively as him as a kid.

On the second Saturday, Ten pets a chicken for the first time. Kun takes him to his neighbour’s farm, a place where he used to go and steal eggs for his family to sell, since when he was very little. He has stopped now, because he finds cleptomany to be immoral, however it’s still fun to go to the henhouse and chase the chickens every now and then.

Ten is quite scared: he finds the cock to be the most intimidating out of all the animals in the farm, which is why he keeps begging Kun to get away from that inferno every time the animal emits a noise, only causing the older to laugh more.

The third time they meet, Kun takes Ten for a stroll in a vast field of tulip flowers. He teaches him the names of all the different varieties of flowers, and the meaning of each tint: white for purity, purple for elegance, red for passion. Kun’s eyes are hazelnuts in the sunlight, and Ten finds them to be extremely pretty.

On the fourth Saturday Ten brings a present for Kun: a stylographic pen and a bottle of ink.  
He teaches him how to write his name, carefully and slowly so the older can practice well, and they spend the whole afternoon tracing the elaborate chinese character on Ten’s paperback journal.

Ten writes a well executed “Li Yongqin” too, and Kun attempts to copy it on every possible surface: a piece of paper, the trunk of a tree, even the forearm of his friend, who has to wear long sleeved shirts for the following week in order to hide it from the royal staff.

The fifth day is a very gloomy day and Ten spends it inside the Palace, fantasising about meeting Kun and creating elaborate yet imaginary conversations with him. He plays the piano for a bit, trying to remember the notes to the beautiful song his friend had played for him a few weeks earlier in the city square, but he gives up after a few minutes, throwing himself on the floor in frustration. He plays board games with Johnny until the sun rises again.

The sixth time they meet, Ten discovers that the sun has a specific scent, static and grey, and Kun smells exactly like that. He also smells like lavender and wood, which is a mixture of aromas that brings Ten back to his childhood days, when he used to play in his garden with a few other princes from the nearby kingdoms: Prince Minhyung, Prince Sicheng, Prince Taemin. Although Kun’s scent is more comforting and warm, in a way.

On the seventh Saturday, in a rather expected turn of events, King Li Yongqin falls in love with Qian Kun.

♠

It’s Saturday again, and Ten and Kun are on one of their usual strolls around the village cornfields, which are now ready to be harvested.

The two young men make their way through the cornstalks and lay down in the middle of the field: Kun lets out a pleased sigh as he connects his hands under his head and closes his eyes, Ten lies on his stomach instead, cupping the two palms around his cheeks and tilting his head towards the other boy. The two stay silent for a moment, taking in the uncontaminated raw air that Ten has grown to love so much.

The older starts whistling the melody of an old popular song, mindlessly chewing on a blade of grass. Being used to the purified, sterile ambience of the Royal Palace, Ten is fascinated with the rural ways of the country folk, and perhaps this is one of the reasons why he’s feeling so enamored of all the little escapades he and Kun have secretly been making in the last few weeks.

Most importantly, for the first time in years he is able to feel free, like he’s given the chance to experience his childhood years once again. Youth is something that has felt so out of reach for him, lately; because the moment he turned twenty two, the moment he had to bid farewell to his father and, with him, his own boyhood, Ten had to leave behind his life as a young prince as well - when he could just get away with anything without facing the consequences of his actions - and embrace the much coveted (and intimidating) role of King of the Land. Since then, he never had the chance to just go with the flow, to do things out of spite: climb a tree, swim in a lake, lie freely in a corn field with a pretty boy from the village. The king opens his mouth with a delicate hesitance, and in a shaky voice he asks: “Can I tell you something?”

Kun hums, as his chest rises calmly with every slow paced breath. The red September sun reflects noble on his tanned skin, where freckles have started to show up due to the young man’s frequent exposure to the afternoon sun. He’s wearing a white sleeveless top which exposes a timid tan line on his neck and shoulders, and Ten finds it oddly endearing because, even if he tried, he couldn’t find any similar trace of bronze on his own perfectly pale arms. It’s curious, really, to think how different he would look if he hadn’t been restricted to the solitude of the Palace, if he had grown up in the village, or the city, or even as a servant for another king. Ten shrugs off the thought and focuses again on Kun, whose back has now become one with the dry soil, corn leaves etching a funny print on his soft skin, some of his dark brown curls swirled around his slender fingers like a cat's tail. He reminds Ten of a sleepy lizard, sunbathing in the heat of the last days of summer: he looks modestly delicate, yet truly mesmerising, and Ten knows he’s never seen anyone as beautiful as him.

“You’re my only friend” the younger whispers, a shade of pink crawling on his neck like a swarm of ants ready to bite down on his insecurities. He feels so very ashamed, mostly because anyone would expect a king to be socially well educated and yet, even as a prince, he was never allowed to make acquaintances with anybody outside of the Palace. To this day, his only companions are a few servants of the royal family and his pet dog, Akira.

Well, there is Johnny, too.  
In fact, Johnny is the closest thing to a friend that Ten has ever had, and he deems himself really lucky to be able to consider him a trusted member of the Palace staff. Yet, the king knows his retainer doesn’t really have a choice: even if they didn’t like each other, Johnny would still have to do his job and treat him as a respected member of the royal family; which, of course, brings him to wonder if the other has ever really seen him as a close companion, or if he’s just put on a mask throughout the whole of their lives to avoid dealing with Ten’s unusual and pretentious requests.

Kun keeps his eyes shut and smiles: “Well, I have plenty of friends. But you, Ten… you are my favourite one.”

“Is it because I am the King?” The younger smiles back bitterly, afraid of the answer he’s going to receive.

“I don’t care about that, and you know it.” Kun chuckles, running a hand through his dark locks “It doesn’t matter if you’re rich or poor, if you have green eyes, three legs or six fingers. It doesn’t matter if your arms are not strong enough to lift weights or if you can’t tell the difference between an apple and a peach. I don’t care about those things. I like you because you are my friend, because you don’t judge me, you are kind and generous and you never laughed at me because I am not able to read or speak many languages like you are. I like you because you are noble and compassionate, because you are a true king, Ten”

“I don’t know about that…” Ten’s eyes are lucid: how could Kun say so many good things about him with such nonchalance? Does he really think so highly of him?

In a sly movement, the younger reaches forward and places a fleeting kiss on the cheek of the other, who flushes red at the contact. It’s gracious and soft, but quite hurried too. Ten is glad that the older boy isn’t opening his eyes, afraid that he would be laughed at for the evident blush appearing on his own face, which takes the colour of a blossoming cherry tree.

“Why did you do that?” Kun questions innocently.

Butterflies are dancing a waltz inside Ten’s stomach: he didn’t know he had it in him. “Because you look beautiful. Like a prince.” He admits, and he really believes it: Kun’s eyes are narrow and dark, like sweet almonds, and his facial features are gentle and sharp at the same time. His posture is elegant, even when he’s just lying down in a cornfield, and even his words always seem remarkably noble and dignified.

“Then do it again, my King” Kun teases. “Kiss me again. On the lips this time.” he continues, with a sly grin that is truly sublime. 

The younger’s heart jumps in his chest, not expecting to hear such words. Kun is still sprawled out next to Ten, waiting for him to move forward, to connect their lips, something they have both secretly wished could happen for a while now. But instead, the younger sits up, facing the other way, looking at the vermillion sun that’s setting behind the hills. A few old men are tiredly limping towards the nearby houses, farmers who are probably too old and exhausted to still be able to work well. A group of children is chasing a stray dog in the distance, shouting loudly and scaring away the birds, who are looking for shelter under the tiled roofs of the cottages. He thinks how much he would like this moment to last forever: Kun and him, lying in a field without a worry in the world, breeze scraping on their necks and leaves tickling their skin. Ten is suddenly discouraged, reminded of the harsh reality that is his real life: “I am sorry, my prince; perhaps another time. It’s late, and I will have to be at the palace soon or my mother will send horses to look for me.”

Kun hums as Ten takes a last glance at him and gets up. He makes his way through the cornstalks, leaving the other alone in the field: the older’s eyelids flutter open to see the shrinking silhouette of his friend walking away in the setting sun.

Kun looks at the ant that’s crawling up his wrist, a big grin still plastered on his face. “Did you hear that?” he squeals, seemingly struck by the other’s words.

“He called me _**his prince...**_ ” the young man giggles lightly, as a rush of joy and excitement washes all over his body.

♠

“We just have to finish it up. Come, I’ll teach you!” Kun invites Ten to sit at his side.

It’s a Saturday evening and the king has been invited to Kun’s laboratory to watch him work on his instruments. The artisan has been commissioned a harpsichord and two cellos for the end of the month, as well as the violin he’s currently handling with immense care, so he can’t afford any free time to dedicate to his beloved companion alone. He’s actually invited Ten to assist him in his work and learn too, however the king often finds himself distracted by the beauty of the older’s hands and the delicacy of their movements, forgetful to listen to the latter’s instructions on how to craft the most flawless of instruments.

“You have to tie a knot, like this. Then you pull it…” Kun passes the knot into the hole of the tailpiece and slides the first string all the way up, wrapping it around the lowest peg, as he explains to Ten his every movement up to the tiniest of details. He tightens the string by turning the peg, and strokes it a few times to ensure the right note. Ten watches in silence with his lips parted: he’s heard the sound of a violin at least a thousand of times before in his life, yet this feels like a totally new experience, something so raw and premature that he young man feels the unbearable urge to try it himself. “I want to put on the remaining strings! If you’ll let _**me**_ do it, then you’ll have more time to work on your cellos!”

Kun considers the offer, and handles the fiddle to Ten with a sigh. “If you break it I’ll kick you.”

“What if I succeed? Will you give me a kiss, _**my prince**_?” Ten jokes, remembering their late escapade in the cornfield when he had compared Kun’s beauty to the one of a prince. His tone is playful, but his ears flush red with embarrassment nonetheless.

In his innocent request, the king has unknowingly asked for one of the older’s most craved desires. The latter chuckles, nodding. “Alright.”

The young king spends a long time adjusting the pegs and tuning the strings with meticulous accuracy, and in the meantime Kun is able to finish the planing for the cellos’ bout and the paintwork of the harpsichord. Ten jumps on his feet when he’s done, his heart warmed by the satisfaction of having completed the work alone. He lays the instrument gently on a stool, as Kun walks closer and admires his work: “You did a wonderful job, I’m impressed.”

“Thank you!” the king says cheerfully, but when he looks up he’s met with the dark, eager eyes of the older, who’s staring at his lips like he’s willing to bite them. Ten’s smile falters as he steps closer to Kun, who's already cupping one of his cheeks with a hand, caressing it with a thumb. They’re close now, too close, as Kun presses his nose against Ten’s pointed one so that their breaths can merge together into a hot huff of air that heats up the whole room. Their hesitant lips brush against each other for a moment, before crashing together in a hungry kiss. It’s intense and needy, and it makes Ten’s heart sing like a choir of angels.

When their mouths part, he finds Kun looking back at him with an unexpected curiosity: “I told you I’d give you a kiss” he grins. His hair is messy and his lips are sore, but to the king he looks like a true god.

A god whose glory, in his opinion, will be unraveled only by stripping him of his oil-stained clothes.

Ten fumbles on the laces of the older’s linen top with his sly fingers, the long strings coming undone with ease: he’s left gaping at the artisan’s tanned chest, wishing to caress it with his hands, or even taste it with his tongue.

The other’s movements are rough and indelicate, instead: Kun has always been good with his hands, but tonight he’s just craving the contact, and it happens so suddenly that he’s not even sure what his next movements will be. He undresses the younger furiously and throws his clothes on the floor; the uncreased suit of a king tossed without care on the cold stone floor. He turns up to look at his lover: Ten’s nude body is so heavenly in Kun’s eyes, that the latter promises himself to paint a mental picture of it, just to be able to treasure it forever in his mind.

He lifts Ten and pushes him on top of the wooden desk, and the young king has to laugh, because it’s actually the first time he’s being handled by another man, and he never imagined it to happen on the table of a messy artisan’s workshop. Kun chuckles in response, unaware of the motive but too caught up in his attempt at laying them down on the firm surface to actually care.

“Kiss me, please…” Ten cries, sitting on top of him.

“Call me _**your prince**_ again, and maybe I’ll consider it.”

And so their love scene unfolds, unraveling a completely new intimacy for the two young men, who for so long have been starving for a taste of each other’s skin.

It is a pleasant new adventure, and inside Kun’s workshop, on a rough wooden table, there are no rules to be followed anymore: Ten isn’t king, Kun isn’t man, their spirits have gone beyond the materialism of things. The two feel each other like they’ve never felt anything before in their life, and yet they could vanish into sweet nothingness with convenient ease if they only wanted to. Ten is not afraid to touch Kun anymore: he’s thought about this moment for too long, clasping on the furor of being with someone that’s just a commoner, when he could have anybody he wanted. Kun is harboring a similar feeling: the honour of being in Ten’s arms makes him feel important and powerful, igniting a sparkle in the pitch of his stomach that makes its way through his throat and comes out in the form of a pleased groan.

Eventually, something of an exquisite beauty arises within their beings, something unforgettable and eternal that comes from the most unrefined of emotions, and that will stay with them forever, whatever their future might hold.

♠

The sun is high in the sky when Ten and his retainer decide to take a stroll around the garden: the younger had requested Johnny to accompany him on his walk and listen to his detailed account on the events of his recent escapade. Of course, the latter complied. The sky is too blue, the grass is too green, and the king finds it fun to step on all the little mushrooms he can find while telling his chaperone about the violin he had fixed and everything that followed after. In the shade of a majestic willow tree, the two young men throw themselves on the grass and lay on their backs, while some timid, fluffy clouds hover calmly above them.

Ten smiles dreamily, continuing his detailed summary: “And then he just laid down on the table and made me sit on his-”

“Enough!” Johnny shuts his eyes, as if that could prevent Ten’s voice to get to his ears “I don’t want you to continue: this is too inappropriate, even for a king. Besides, you’re talking way louder than you should. What if someone hears?”

“What then?” Ten frowns.

Johnny wants to tell him that he’s naive if he doesn’t understand the dangers of somebody eavesdropping their conversation, for him _**and**_ his friend, but he decides to keep quiet in order to avoid being subject to the king’s harsh words of response.

“I like him so much, Johnny…”

The retainer sighs. “You’re such a romantic, Yongqin.”

“Isn’t it a good thing?” Ten thinks it’s a good thing, to be romantic. Isn’t it?  
All these years he’s been taught that kings marry queens and princes marry princesses, but nobody ever considers actual love. Perhaps it’s just him, who dreams about finding the right person, someone who cares for you not because they have to, but because it’s what their heart tells them; perhaps it is just him, who repudiates his own existence because free people have the choice to hate and love whoever they want, and he doesn’t.

It’s _**definitely**_ just him, he reckons, because nobody was ever able to understand what love meant inside this damned Palace. He remembers when his uncle had come back from Europe with a bunch of books as a present for him: the stories of a boy and a girl falling in love while reading a novel, a woman crying her eyes out for the sacrifice of her husband, a man who lost his mind because he was rejected, and his loved one ran away with a handsome knight. Love is always depicted as a wild, undisciplined sentiment, and yet, Ten had never seen something like it in real life, especially within the royal walls, before stumbling upon his Kun.

Johnny, as expected, doesn’t find the answer to his question. “I just… don’t want you to get hurt, running around like a free spirit being careless and-”

“You hate me.” Ten interrupts him, overwhelmed by his own train of thoughts. He sits up, followed by Johnny, whose hair looks more like a bird nest than anything else. “I really don’t.” he responds, a hint of apprehension barely visible in his expression. Ten doesn’t understand: “Then why are you always against me, lately? After I met Kun, you’ve changed. Why is that?” 

“Well, you can’t just go around like this all the time, visiting your little friend, while I’m here worried that you’ll never come back. You have responsibilities, Yongqin! You’re the King, for Goodness’ sake!” Johnny’s peremptory tone makes Ten fall back in the grass.

“Well I didn’t choose to be king, did I?”

There is a moment of silence, in which both men fumble around in the grass with their fingers, occasionally plucking a few emerald blades. “You see, whenever I get out of the royal walls, I feel alive.” Ten explains to Johnny as if he were a child “Everything is new and exciting, there. Do you remember the girls who gave us flower crowns?”

Johnny nods.

“I still have mine. It’s wilted and ugly now, but I still have it and I love it ten thousand times more than any of my stupid golden ones. And that woman who gave us her bread, do you remember her?”

Johnny nods again, with a knot in his throat. He feels awfully hurt after Ten began to compare royalty to the life in the village, after he indirectly began to compare him to Kun.

“...I can still taste that fine food in my mouth. The people from the town are so caring and lovely, Johnny! And Kun is no exception: he is gentle and good, just like… just like a ginkgo tree - oh how i miss him!”

Johnny chuckles, and Ten sits up again, facing him: “You think I’m crazy for having such thoughts…”

“What? That’s not true!” Johnny laughs, like he’s trying to slow down the tempest that’s swiveling violently around Ten’s tiny figure.

“Yes, yes! You think I’m ill!” Ten shouts agitated, with his index fingers pointing directly at his own head.

“I think your heart is.” Johnny asserts bitterly after a pause, his expression completely transformed.

“But why?” Ten almost pants, the echo of his yell reverberating in the gardens. “Because I love another man?” 

“Because you don’t love _**me**_!” Johnny loses his temper, allowing his mouth to reveal the deepest of his secrets, a lustful desire he’s kept inside for such a long time that it’s even become somehow comfortable to live with, something he swore never to confess to anybody, and yet finds himself shouting at the four winds. The retainer immediately covers his mouth with a hand while turning around, unable to look the king in the eye as his cheeks flush red with embarrassment and guilt: it was quite an egotistical thing to say, he reckons, given the king’s late confession about loving a man that is unfortunately not him, but alas! What is done is done, and he knows he can’t take back his words anymore.

“What?” Ten’s head is throbbing, too overwhelmed by emotion to allow him to think of a better response.

“Forget it.” Johnny doesn’t know where to lay his eyes, so he just looks forward.

There is another long silence which deavours the poor king; tension palpable between the two. “I’m sorry I don’t love you.”

“Yeah. Thanks for making it clear.” Johnny gets up and walks towards the royal residence, leaving Ten alone to ponder on his sorrow. The latter looks up, where the dense branches of the tree are able to filter the thinnest of sun rays. He sighs. “Why did he have to tell me? I don’t know how to deal with this.”

The first tear falls from his eyes with the guilt of not loving him back, the second with an unfamiliar flatter that helps all the following ones stain his pretty face with a salty cry. He sobs silently, repeating Johnny’s words in his head over and over and over. He, a monarch, the man who supposedly has it all, feels _**defeated**_ , crushed by the pressure of his own incompetence. Ten sniffles: “I wish I was a simple man, with a simple life, so I wouldn’t have to deal with this blizzard of concerns. And yet I’m stuck here, with the desire of disappearing like a crumpled leaf in a hurricane: it’s so unfortunate! How can I be free, like you?”

The birds chirp on the branches, feeding their children and flapping around in the blue sky. A light breeze strokes the pitch black locks on the king’s hair and with a hand he adjusts them into place.

“Please answer me.” he whimpers, but the tree stays silent.

♠

“...Johnny and I decided that it’s better like this: your cousin is lovely, and she is just a few years younger than you, my darling. When she becomes of age, she is going to make a wonderful wife, and you’ll reign together as King and Queen. Aren’t you happy, dear?”

Again, Ten doesn’t feel happy at all.

The echo of his mother’s words resonates through Ten’s ears like a violent ocean wave, along with his heart that’s heavily thumping, making his head throb. Right after excusing himself from the dinner table, the king has gone straight to his room, unable to wrap his finger around what had just happened. He had expected his mother to marry him off to his younger cousin, it was bound to happen sooner or later - but to have it confirmed, to have the certainty of it happening in less than a year, without any consultation whatsoever? It is devastating, to say the least. Ten runs a sweaty hand through his pitch black hair and thinks of his friend Kun, he thinks of the pleasant life of the village folk and he’s _**infuriated**_ because he, instead, has to deal with an upcoming wedding that, with the exception of his mother and aunt, nobody is really looking forward to.

He lets out a guttural sound as he punches the wall a few times, hitting the candid surface with rage and despair until it hurts, until his knuckles become red and bruised from the force he’s been putting in his tight fist. Hopeless, he throws himself heavily on the soft mattress of the majestic bed that takes up most of the room’s space. There is a faint call outside his door, a voice that he recognises immediately, one of the only people who are able to make him feel at peace even in situations like this. “Come in.” he whimpers, as the door opens.

“It was your mother’s decision. Not mine.” the man justifies himself, afraid that the young king would take it out on him, and stay angry at _**him**_ for no reason.

“I know, Johnny, I’m not mad at you. I just wish my mother had consulted me, that’s all.” Ten speaks in a tone that is too calm, unsettling to listen to: he is not angry anymore, just awfully frustrated, and he looks at his retainer as his eyes begin to swell.

“Well, what would you have said then?” The other man asks curiously, and he receives the answer both of them were expecting to hear come out of the King’s mouth: “I would have said no, of course.”

It’s cold, since the window has been widely opened to liberate some of the king’s tension and cool off the atmosphere of the room; in the absurdity of the moment, the calm night sky looks like the most beautiful thing Ten has ever seen, and he doesn’t wish anything else but to be under it, walking independently, unrestrained by the oppressing absurdities of the Palace. In a rushed decision, he takes off the golden jacket with his royal seals, wears his walking boots, and starts climbing out of the window, which is surprisingly not too high off the ground and guarantees a safe fall inside the Palace Gardens.

Johnny leans on the windowsill and looks around, noticing that there aren’t any guards in the garden because the King is supposed to be at dinner still, so there’s no need to have security outside of the Palace walls. He also notices that Ten has now turned the opposite direction, towards the small side gate, and with a swift movement the young man is already on the other side of the fence. Under the faint moonlight, Ten disappears in the dark woods and Johnny is left to sigh in resignation: “Yongqin… Please be safe.”

Ten is afraid he will get a cold, but he doesn’t mind running in the chilly night air if it means freeing himself of his responsibilities for just one night. His feet hit the forest floor with muffled thumps, abundant and rough, as if he needs to get rid of his tension through the mossy understory of the woods while his eyes finally give up and let a stream of pained tears roll unfazed down his flushed cheeks. His sobs are loud and inelegant, his steps are hasty and confused, and in this moment Ten has never felt more distant from his status as a royal, with mud all over his brown boots and tear stains on his collar. The chilly air allows goosebumps to rise on his bare shoulders: had he been inside the Palace, Ten would have just worn a jacket over his flimsy top, but all he can afford now is to breathe hot hair in his cupped hands and rub them up and down his arms. 

Reaching Kun’s house in such a short time is both a relief and a curse for Ten: he can’t wait to find comfort and shelter in the boy’s warm embrace, yet his eyes are still crying an embarrassing amount of tears and Ten is afraid of what his friend might think about him showing up at his door in the middle of the evening with a couple of extremely puffed and rosey cheeks. He tries to compose himself as he knocks three times, knowing that he would usually care about looking dignified and regal, but tonight nothing matters except maybe having Kun smiling softly in his arms. A few seconds later, the door is opened, slightly ajar, and the scrutinous eyes of a young man run all over his liable figure.

“Ten?”

Kun steps out of the house, his smile falters as he notices the glossiness on Ten’s cheekbones under the moonlight, and gently wipes them with a thumb to get rid of his last wet tears: “Oh, poor thing, you must be freezing. Are you okay?”

The younger sniffles: “I needed to see you…”

There is a timorous hesitance in Kun’s movements, the concern of having to deal with the emotional mess that is Ten right now: the older grabs his hand and guides him inside, offering a wooden stool to the king, and a small ceramic bowl with a bunch of soft, crumbly biscuits for him to feast upon. Ten has never seen anything more appetising.

“My Goodness, you look like you’ve been starved!” Kun laughs at Ten who is stuffing his mouth with the savoury treat, moaning and blabbering compliments to the chef while chewing on the soft dough. The older tends to Ten’s hand, wrapping a piece of white cloth around it to cover the bruises that he got after punching the wall.

“Phmk you” Ten hums.

Kun nods with a smile and returns to the stove, where a tiny stockpot of vegetable soup was left to simmer. “Supper is almost ready, you’re welcome to lay the table!” he exclaims.

Ten, who has never laid the table before in his life, silently compliments himself for doing such a proper job: he places the thick ceramic bowls diligently on the wooden board, as well as a couple of spoons (really? Does Kun use _**only one**_ spoon for a whole meal?) and two cups, which he fills with a scented black tea that is perhaps too bitter for anyone to actually enjoy. Kun pours the hot liquid from the pot into the bowls, and together the two sit down to eat.

The soup is creamy and delicious, Ten makes it known to Kun by repeating it at least a dozen of times; the homemade bread is also very tasty, and between him and his friend they are able to finish a whole loaf by the end of the night. The atmosphere around the table is lively and comfortable, with Kun telling entertaining stories about his bizarre neighbours, and Ten adding witty comments. They consume their meal loudly and with their hands, something Ten isn’t used to, something he finds absolutely addicting as he keeps stuffing his mouth with crispy sticks of celery.

Ten volunteers to tidy up and wash the dishes: it feels new and rather domestic to him, and who is Kun to refuse when a man with good manners and pretty eyelashes offers to do his job for him? So the older sits on the kitchen counter next to a wooden shelf; he takes out an old violin and starts to tune the four worn out chords.

The young man takes off on a sweet, silvery melody that envelopes the household in a refreshing atmosphere. As the violin entangles in a delightful song, Ten starts waltzing around the room with a grin, a bowl dripping with water drops in one hand, a worn out rag in the other. He starts swaying around the room, eventually changing his pace when the melody becomes more festive and the violin bow starts scratching vigorously on the tight chords, emitting a lively series of acute and bohemian sounds. It’s a very bucolic scene, with the stove occasionally emitting a warm huff and the slightly consumed furniture that stands rustic and proud on an unrefined stone floor, where the King is tapping his cold bare feet to the rhythm of the music.

Ten is having the time of his life, heart thumping incredibly fast in his chest. He reckons this is the most fun he’s ever had, and he feels like a child jumping around the kitchen while his Kun is looking at him so fondly from the side.

He eventually gets tired, and bows down in an elegant curtsey when the melody changes again into a sweeter one. There is a certain comfort that comes with the look Kun gives him, a shy one, that takes over his heart like a wildfire in summer. He’s sitting on the counter with his legs crossed, and Ten can’t fight the urge to lay a hand on the older’s knee. “Don’t you get lonely, living here all by yourself?”

The music stops; Kun puts down the violin and its bow and gets up, walking closer to his companion, whose cheeks are flushed from the refreshing dance he’s just had. “I’m not alone. I have my music… and lovely neighbours, and a cat.” he smiles.

As if on cue, a small, black feline meows softly as he enters from the opened kitchen window, startling the two who just end gasping and giggling. Ten asks: “Yes but, why do you live alone, Kun? Wouldn’t you like to have a beautiful lady to marry?”

“I would rather marry a king.” He whispers promptly, moving closer to Ten, way too close for him to keep his heartbeat at a steady rate. The latter can smell Kun’s delicate scent, a blend of stew and wood, with a hint of jasmine too.

“Oh yeah? You would marry someone like me?” Ten teases back, putting his arms on the other’s shoulder and taking a few steps backwards until he’s leaning on the edge of the table.

“Yes.” The older follows him until their bodies are pushed against each other. He places a delicate kiss on the younger’s neck; then another one, and another one, and another one, trailing up towards Ten’s ear as he keeps talking:  
“In another world” kiss.  
“In another time” kiss.  
“I swear” kiss.  
“I will marry _**you**_ ” kiss, kiss, kiss.

Ten’s eyes are shut, his embrace tighter around the other’s neck; he tries not to think about his own upcoming marriage after hearing Kun’s sweet words. “What if we ran away together to a faraway land where nobody could find us?” he whispers softly as their gazes merge intensely into one another. The older chuckles, but Ten keeps his eyes steady: “I’m serious, Kun. You could craft and sell instruments to the musicians and I could write stories for the children and teach them to read… we can take your cat, too.” he smiles.

“That’s so irresponsible.” Kun scolds him “You can’t just leave your people. They need you…”

Ten feels disappointed to hear such a realistic answer come out of his friend’s mouth: it feels a bit like talking to Johnny, and right now Ten doesn’t want to think about his retainer, confessing his love to him just a few days earlier. He gives Kun his answer: a selfish answer at that, from the mouth a selfish king. “But I need _**you**_!”

Kun knows that it would only hurt a thousand times more to say that he needs him too, that Ten has been the ray of light shining through the dullness of his days; so he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he reaches forward, desperately searching for something to grip onto, finding the burning sensation of the other’s skin coming in contact with his faithful hands, clutching onto the feeling of serenity and comfort that comes with the easy embrace of a carnal love.

It's the second time they find themselves romancing on the uncomfortable surface of a wooden table, having to be careful about not hurting each other or getting splinters from the rough material. Kun decides to wrap the king’s legs around his waist and carry him to another room.

Kun’s bedroom is barren, the only furniture being a chair, a shelf, a messy desk and a rather small bed. Which is fortunate, because at least the two avoid tripping on something while being immersed in each other’s lips with their eyes slightly ajar.

The two fall on the bed, with a thump, and make love to each other like nobody ever did before, with a peculiar kind of hunger that takes over their rational spirits and transforms them into wild beasts. It’s rough and sweet at the same time, just as they like it. But, as everything beautiful must come to an end, Ten has to detach himself completely from Kun’s naked body or else his skin would get burned by the passion of his touch. He’s got to tell him. “Kun, I am engaged.”

There is a long pause. “Congratulations.” is the only thing that comes out of the older’s mouth.

Ten’s heart sinks in his chest. Talking about it puts the both of them in such pain, that he almost regrets bringing it up “It wasn’t my decision.”

“I know.” Kun puts an arm around his lover’s chest and pulls him closer. There are a few moments of silence, interrupted occasionally by the sound of gentle kisses that so delicately land on the younger’s forehead.

“I wish I was a bird, so I wouldn’t have to deal with all this.” Ten repeats the same thing he told Johnny barely a few weeks earlier, tasting the waters with Kun, hoping for a different answer - or any answer that wasn’t Johnny’s, really. He’s scared he will be disappointed again.

However, he is met with the most beautiful of answers: “I wish I was a river then, so I could feed you and accompany you: I would watch you from the ground as you spread your wings and fly high in the sky.”

It’s quite a natural response, but Ten is amazed by how much it was able to affect the rate of his heartbeat. “I love you so much, Kun.”

“Goodnight, Ten.” the older holds him even tighter against his chest, wishing for this moment to last forever.

“Goodnight, my prince.”

♠

The two are woken up by the sounds of muffled chatter and things being moved around in the kitchen: of course Kun and Ten’s hearts start pounding like furious drums. Kun dresses up in a rush and throws some pants in the younger’s direction, while the noise of dishes scattering on the floor behind the room walls rings in their ears. There is an unspoken tension between them, something that hangs itself tight around their throats and fails to release the grip. Kun mouths the words “don’t worry” and places a hurried kiss on the younger’s cheek, in the hope of reassuring him. Little does he know, it’s the last moment of calm before the storm.

The two are halfway finished putting on their clothes when the door of the bedroom is slung open by a very tall and intimidating figure, who looks at them for a moment and then exclaims, very charmingly: “For fuck’s sake, Yongqin!”

Ten’s heart feels like it’s about to explode, however his body is frozen, and he stands there with his trousers unlaced like an extremely frightened deer. A bunch of other guards appear at Johnny’s side, surrounding the bed where Kun and Ten are uncomfortably sat.

“You!” one of the guards points at Kun, who is glancing back at him like a hangdog. There is a clear contrast between the two: the arrogance against the modesty, the sumptuous stance of the royal against the gracile tenderness of the commoner. The guard continues, pointing at the young man: “You will come with us to the Royal Palace, where we will… take action for your foolish crime.”

“What… what crime?”

“Kidnapping and…” the guard grabs Ten’s hand, wrapped in the gauze “...harming the King.”

Kun is speechless. Harming? He never intended to lay a finger on Ten (if not for caressing him tenderly and making love to him, which is something the guards should never know about, though). If anything, it’s their fault the king is hurt, since the bruises are the product of the trouble caused by his mother marrying him off to a relative he never even met.

Ten jumps on his feet, his emotions swirling like a tornado inside his chest: “What? I was only trying to cover a bruise, he helped me tend to it!” he explains.

“Don’t try to defend him, Your Majesty.” the guard speaks.

“What did you just say to me?” Ten’s voice rumbles within the four walls of Kun’s room “I hope you’re aware of the fact that you’re talking to the King!”

A bright red color makes its appearance on Ten’s cheeks, as his eyes start welling up with wet, rotund tears. His speech wants to crumble the floor, it wants to tear down those four walls that imprison them in such an uncomfortable situation, but the guards are not intimidated in the least by his shaking voice, so they stay still, looking at Kun like it’s the last time he’ll be able to see the sun.

“I’m not a child anymore! Do you think I cannot be trusted going out alone? Well, the joke is on you, because I’ve been doing it for weeks behind your backs! I can protect myself!” Ten spits, eyes overflowing with salted water that falls ungracefully onto the floor.

“Are you even listening to me?” the king keeps going, almost maniacally “Johnny, tell them!”

But Johnny keeps silent, afraid of admitting to having let the king go out on his own, unsupervised. Ten is so angry and frustrated, that he throws himself on the floor after untangling his hand from the guard’s grasp, landing right at his retainer’s feet. Kun just watches as the younger starts sobbing gravely through sniffles and low grunts.

Johnny crouches down. “I told you to be careful.” he whispers to the king, emotionless, creating an unbearable contrast between his lack of sentiment and Ten’s mess of a heart. He is angry at him for being reckless, and for disregarding his advice, too.

“Please Johnny.” Ten shivers like a leaf in the wind “I beg you not to hurt him.”

The retainer shoots a glance in the direction of the guards, who all nod in agreement. He sighs: “You can have a brief moment with him, Your Majesty. We will be waiting outside for you and your friend.”

It hurts to hear Johnny talk in such a detached, unfeeling way, but Ten’s heart is already heavy enough to worry about that, too. The five guards walk out towards the kitchen, followed by the retainer: they exit the house, closing the door behind their backs and leaving Kun and Ten alone in an absurd quiet.

The two reach the living space in a rush, worried about the condition of the furniture outside the room. There aren’t too many things that look out of place, except one chair, scattered on the floor and with a broken leg, Ten’s clothes perfectly folded on the windowsill and some patches of dirt on the stone floor that must have come out from under the guards’ boots.

There are also a bunch of dishes shattered at their feet; some glasses and the bowls they used for eating the night before and left to dry next to the wash basin. Kun looks hurt, and reasonably so: there is no reason why the guards should have done something as cruel as breaking a man’s kitchenware. “My beautiful set of ceramic plates…” he whispers.

He’s clearly trying to deflect the fact that there are people outside waiting to arrest him for a crime he didn’t commit. He turns to Ten, who runs into his arms heavily sobbing. There is a long silence which seems surreal, like time has stopped and the two are the only human beings left on Earth.

“What will happen now?” Kun whispers innocently in Ten’s ear, the hot breath fanning against his skin. There aren’t tears on the older’s cheeks, although his heart aches like it never did before.

Ten steps back and wipes his face with the back of his hand. “There is no way I’m going to let you come to the Palace” he says, trying to be stern, although his voice is still broken “You will escape through the forest and run far away to another land, where nobody will recognise you… There, you will start another life as a luthier...”

The first timid tear makes its appearance on Kun’s cheek, followed by a few others: “Ten… I can’t just leave-”

“They will kill you if you don’t!”

“But… They will punish you if I do!” Kun rebuttals, in a wail.

“It’s an order, Kun. From your king.”

Ten breaks down, falling miserably on the floor, accidentally cutting his left hand with the rim of the broken plates. He doesn’t look like a king at all, half naked and at his lover’s feet. “You are exiled, Qian Kun… I don’t want to see you again!” he sobs.

“That is not true…” Kun sits down and composedly gathers some of the ceramic pieces: he carefully analyses the most good looking ones and hands the largest one to Ten, who is looking at him with an unreadable expression. “Please, keep a fragment of this bowl, and I will keep one too: it will be like conserving a piece of each other’s broken hearts.” Kun urges his lover to pick up the piece. “It will remain the symbol of our impossible, foolish love.” he says with a bitter smile.

The king takes it: its edge is sharp and chipped, and there is the drawing of a blue phoenix surrounded by an entanglement of poison ivy on one of the sides, while the other is just white. Ten has never received a present as beautiful and meaningful as this.

“I hope I’ll be able to meet you again...” he whispers, hopeful.

“Perhaps we will be luckier in our next life.” Kun’s hands rest on the younger’s shoulders.

The king doesn’t have anything left to say, so he just reaches forward and shoves his lips against Kun’s: it’s a sloppy kiss, full of tears, spit and saliva, and it’s hungry too, with the older running his fingers up and down the younger’s chest and Ten biting firmly on the other’s lips. Both mouths emanate a stunningly bitter flavour: Ten tastes like despair, Kun tastes like goodbyes. The kiss lasts for quite a long time, until it’s interrupted by a few hard knocks on the door that startle the two. Their lips detach, but their eyes stay fixed on each other, taking in the nostalgic beauty of their faces wrecked by sentiment and emotion: Ten is absolutely devastated; Kun looks calm and peaceful instead, but with bloodshot eyes and a sad smile.

The young king watches him through the tears as he gets up and walks towards his room, picking up a bag and stuffing it with his basic necessities and a few other less important items. He takes his violin case, too.

Kun throws a last glance at Ten, a look that speaks a thousand words because his throat is dry and unable to emit a sound. He just turns around and climbs through the window, disappearing in the morning sun.

Kun really is like a river, Ten thinks, a resigned stream who already knew what was coming, and had accepted the idea of their tragic separation. And it’s true: Kun is ready to keep living on the ground, benign and quiet, watching from afar as the other takes the flight.

Except that in reality, Ten is the one to stay and Kun is the one to go.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for putting up with my depressed ass throughout this long tale! To Capture A King was supposed to be a shorter fic, but of course I got attached to the characters and ended up making it a series!
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed the first part, please let me know in the comments what you think about it ♥
> 
> This fanfic was really fun to plan out and write! Initially, this was supposed to be a Chenji fic, but lately I got very invested in kunten thanks to a bunch of wonderful writers, so I decided to change the plot and adapt it to this ship!
> 
> Thanks again for reading, I hopefully will be posting more of my writing in the near future 〜
> 
> P.S. this is my twt: @seupeuu !!!


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